


The Days Before Yesterday

by Shadowed_Voices



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anti-Muggle Content, BAMF everyone, Dark Harry Potter, Different Hogwarts Houses, F/F, F/M, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi, Murder, No Incest, POC Harry Potter, POC Hermione Granger, Rocks Fall Everyone Dies, Seer Luna Lovegood, Smart Ron Weasley, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Well - Freeform, also. the relationships are a little messy, but i've been thinking on this for a good long many years now, but now they are all kid shaped so lines get a little blurry for the adult shaped people, if that means stuffing tommy's soul back in place to get a sane sociopath then so be it, look - Freeform, magic and radiation do not mix, muggles end the world, not fully plotted, recovered obscurial Harry Potter, the kids - Freeform, these kids go wibbly wobbly back in time to fuck shit up, they were all adults when things happened, updates will be random and likely far apart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 08:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20078923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowed_Voices/pseuds/Shadowed_Voices
Summary: Four letters on an old man's desk lead to the discovery of six missing children and the start of a war no one lived to see the end of.Or, muggles are what happens when magic is tainted. They are a cancer, and like all cancers, they will destroy the host. Muggles brought about the end of the world with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna some off the few survivors. On the verge of death, the throw themselves onto the mercy of the time-stream and take full advantage of being small and easily lost. But the time of being unnoticeable is gone and action needs to be taken.





	1. 1- Letters to an Orphanage

**15 July 1991**

No one talks about the Orphanage.

For one, it’s not actually an orphanage. In the deep recesses Knockturn Alley where there are more abandoned buildings than occupied storefronts, where only the most desperate and destitute fail to escape, is a narrow three story building made of old soot-stained brick. The ground floor used to be a shop, although no one currently living knows what might have been sold there once upon a time. The windows are partially boarded over. What glass remains is cracked and opaque with grime. The door is similarly barred, sealed from the outside with permanent sticking charms and an odd collection of rotting boards.

All in all, it look just like every other building in that mostly forgotten corner of the alley with it’s sagging roof-line and crumbling walls. And yet, no one talks about the Orphanage.

Denizens of Knockturn Alley all know what the building is and stay well clear of it’s shadow. The knowledge of it’s existence passes not through word of mouth, but by action. Parents pull children away with tight lips and pinched eyes. Dealers, beggars and prostitutes never linger within sight. The homeless dare not sleep under the shelter of its tilting walls.

For all that no one talks about it and everyone with a modicum of sense or self-preservation avoids even looking at it, everyone knows the Orphanage by name. Everyone. Those new to the alley learn its name within the first couple of nights. Visitors who wander in too far return to Diagon with the lingering sense of the word on the back of their tongues.

Six years ago, it was just another building. That corner of the alley was just as sparsely populated as any other. No one is quite sure when, exactly, the change happened. But sometime in the early winter months of 1985 it became obvious that something was directing people away. In those early months, some brave souls tried to determine the source and narrowed it down to that single building based purely on a growing sense of unease and unwelcome, but nothing magical showed. As far as anyone knows, nothing bad happened to those brave few, but they also never truly returned to the alley and skirted the mouth of Knockturn itself with shifty eyes and and nervous gaits. They never found any wards or runes on the building or in the surrounding area. They found nothing magical at all, other than a weakening preservation charm that is all that holds the bricks together.

It’s not a harmful feeling, going too close. It’s going to a party and having the only person you know vanish into the crowd. It’s looking at a map and realizing you have no idea where you are. It’s walking down the stairs and not expecting that last step. It’s the emotional version of creeping through the dark and running face first into spider webs.

Therefore, it is a surprise when, with a spattering of cracks, three Hogwarts teachers appear at the safe boundary, startling a flock of pigeons and the lurking residents. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore is the easiest to recognize in baby blue robes with his long beard and half-moon spectacles. In his shadow lurks Severus Snape, black on black and sallow, a common patron of the alley’s many potions shops and apothecaries. More imposing than either wizard is Minerva McGonagall, straight backed and unapproachable in dark green robes that likely refuse to wrinkle or attract dust out of fear.

The headmaster pull four envelopes out of his sleeve, frowning benignly at the curling emerald script. “Just a bit further up,” he says, blue eyes scanning the cobblestone path. “All four of them - The Bedroom, Third Floor, The Orphanage, Knockturn Alley, London.”

There are several harsh inhales from those watching. Some scurry away for safer shadows. Others creep closer ignoring the sudden chill that permeates the air.

Everyone knows of the residents of the Orphanage for all that no one remembers ever meeting them. Six small children appeared, one at a time, twisting in and out of crowds, at about the same time the Orphanage became no man’s land. Three boys and three girls, it eventually become known. Two dark skinned and dark haired, the others pale and easily burned if not for the pervasive shadows of the alley; two redheaded siblings and two distinctly unrelated blondes. They were all so small originally, not much older than toddlers, but they dodged the occasional well-meaning hand and, perhaps tellingly, were never bothered by those of more nefarious purposes. Under the hesitant gaze of the alley, they grew as children do: in leaps and spurts of aching bones and stumbling feet. Three grew tall and three stayed small, but no one ever guessed their ages.

Apparently, four of them are eleven.

It seems odd, now, to realize that they are untrained. Wandless. Undefended.

Some of those that stayed to watch wonder who these children are.

—

Severus can feel the eyes on his back and he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse than the feeling of not-welcome-go-away-stay-back that radiates from the dingy side alley that contains the Orphanage. He knows what it is. He’s been in Knockturn often enough for the title to plant itself in his conscious thoughts. He’s never bothered to investigate it before, regarding it as one might a snarling beast at the end of its chain. It can’t hurt him if he doesn’t get too close, and thus there is no fear.

There is no fear now, either, facing down the prospect of voluntarily walking to the building, entering it’s condemned rooms.

And yet, he’d really rather not.

Alas, Albus has demanded his presence. There are at least four children in that building. One is a muggleborn, a Miss Hermione Granger. She will be twelve years old this September. Given the identities of her companions, they checked the muggle world for her family and discovered that she, too, has been missing since June 21, 1985. The Summer Solstice. Then, of course, is Ronald Weasley, who turned eleven in May. He and his younger sister Ginevra went missing that same day, noticed by their mother far too late to adequately track a pair of three and five year olds. The delay came from her clock which to this day insists the children are either ‘home’ or ‘traveling’. Albus and Minerva both are hoping that they’ll find young Ginevra with her brother today.

Neville Longbottom, the pureblood heir of House Longbottom, was reported missing almost immediately. His great uncle, only now finishing his term in Azkaban for recklessly endangering an underage heir, held him out a tower window in hopes of inducing some accidental magic. And Neville didn’t disappoint. When Algeron dropped him, accidentally or not, the four-year-old apparated away before he was even halfway to the ground. Family magics claimed the child still alive, but that is little comfort to the boy’s grandmother. Her son and daughter in law are also alive. Technically.

Last, but certainly not least in this little debacle, is Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

No one knew he was missing until the quill scrawled the Orphanage as his address a few names after Neville Longbottom. His disappearance was also the only one with obvious signs of outside tampering. The Dursley’s - and Severus had a fair few word about that with Albus; loud words with creative swearing and liberal threats - had no knowledge of a boy called Harry, let along that he was their nephew and lived with them for - supposedly - four years. The squib down the street showed signs of an overpowered confundus. Uninterested neighbors had taken little convincing to believe that social services found different relatives to place the boy with.

And now, wading through the emotional equivalence of being packed like sardines on the muggle tube, hands and knees brushing unintentionally close to violation, they have the location of four, possibly five missing children. Each vanished on the same day of the same year. The Summer Solstice, a magically significant date. So, of course, it is neither an adult nor any of the five expected children that opens the door - not nearly as inaccessible as it appears - when Albus raps jauntily on the mouldering wood, ostensibly unaffected by the feeling of ants crawling just under his skin.

Even Minerva Stoic McGonagall is twitching.

Instead, it is a slip of a girl who pulls open the disgusting door just enough to peer at them with large, silver eyes. Luna Lovegood, a sixth missing child. A girl who vanished that same solstice while on a trip out of the country with her parents.

The Orphanage, this place is called. And it’s filled with children.

“Good morning, young one,” Albus greets cheerily. He offers a smile that twitches at his beard and puts and extra twinkle in his eyes. The girl’s gaze slides off him to rest, unblinking, on Minerva before drifting over to Severus. The door closes.

Despite everything - despite the sensation of bugs under his skin and dust on his tongue and an intense desire to leave and never return - Severus wants to laugh. Albus’s face couldn’t be more dumbstruck if the child actually screamed and slammed the door in his face.

The door opens again, wider this time, and the tiny blonde blinks at them twice, slow and deliberate, before drifting away in a silent invitation to enter. All three adults step cautiously over the threshold as one does when expecting a rotting floor to collapse out from under the weight of them, but nothing of the sort happens. Rather, they step onto worn hardwood - old but in decent repair - flanked by walls scrubbed clean by hand and magic. The shop counters have been repaired. Shelves lean heavily in between obstructed windows, weighed down by books in varying states of disrepair. The inside appears a good forty years newer than the outside - old, but serviceable with obvious signs of inexpert repair.

Distracted by the juxtaposition of livably condemned, Severus doesn’t notice that the inhospitable chill has vanished until he sees that the girl never actually touches the floor but instead walks barefoot as anyone else might on thin air a good inch above the hardwood. She’s a ghost given substance, so pale against the bright colors of her clothes she might as well be translucent, shadows resting like bruises on her neck and under her unnerving eyes.

“Miss Lovegood, yes? Luna?” Albus asks when the girl hops - and why jump when she’s already floating? - up on the counter near the only internal door. She stares at him for an uncomfortably long time. Watches his nose, Severus realizes. Watches his mouth. Watches what body language can be determined from the voluminous drape of weighty blue robes. There are reasons powerful fighters wear yards of fabric when cloth is so easily a hazard in a duel. It’s harder to predict the next move if the more minute movements are obstructed. The child is wearing a pale yellow muggle dress that wrinkles around her knees and an open-face robe in bright purple with sleeves that cover her hands by a good several inches.

Something too large that she can grow into, the rational part of his brain insists. But. Neither robe nor dress is long enough to tangle around her legs. Her hair is a mess of knots and braids that, incidentally he’s sure, keeps everything out of her face. He can’t see her hands and she floats when she moves, silent. He can sense no magic in use either from an artifact or the child herself. Someone has trained this child. Which likely means that someone has trained all of the children here.

Severus has a bad feeling about this.

“Albus Percevial Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Order of Merlin, First Class. Grand Sorcerer. Chief Warlock. Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” The little girl recites this solemnly, silver eyes fixed on the ornate phoenix clasp at Albus’s throat. It’s common information, sure, found on every Hogwarts letter and repeated in nearly every article written about the man. The quirk of her mouth, the tilt of her head, the slant of her shoulders suggests that she’s holding back. Holding back what, though? She shifts her attention to Minerva then to Severus, as if debating which to go after next.

The two professors are saved by the entrance of another small girl, this one with a riot of dark brown curls cut short and messy about her ears. Hermione Granger is not the reticent bookworm of her parents’ memories. Rather, she strides to the counter and braces her bared forearms on the glass top, no part of her confidence hindered by her need to stand on a stool. Her skin is no longer the light brown of a suburban introvert, but rich, sun-darkened shade that makes Miss Lovegood look sickly in comparison. She is dressed in a similar set of short, loose robes to her companion only in a muted blue with the sleeves rolled up about her elbows and the front done up, hiding whatever she is wearing underneath. She looks each of them in the eye exactly once, starting with Minerva and ending on Albus - threat assessment, Severus realizes, but not in the way Luna Lovegood keeps watch. No, Miss Lovegood is watching for physical danger. Miss Granger is checking mental. Mind magics.

Severus can see the setup now. First, greet them with the child they didn’t expect. Luna Lovegood with her wide, unblinking stare is perfect for wrong-footing them. Then Hermione Granger, a muggleborn of no real significance but obviously trained in the mind arts. If he or Albus dares dip into her mind, it is probable that she and Miss Lovegood will distract them while the other children run. Assuming they keep their minds to themselves like responsible teachers - Severus actively avoids looking into the minds of his students on account of teenagers being a roiling mass of hormones and idiocy, but he knows Albus is fairly liberal when scanning surface thoughts - Ronald and Ginevra Weasley will be the next two to come out of hiding. As the youngest children of a disgraced, Light aligned pureblood family whose father works in an underfunded, unappreciated department of the ministry, they are only a few step above Miss Granger in the eyes of wizarding society.

Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter will be the last to arrive, no doubt, should they pass the tests Ronald and Ginevra will perform. Both boys are the only heirs of their Houses. Rich. Politically influential. Harry Potter, especially, has a great deal of sway over the general public with the ten year anniversary of the Dark Lord’s defeat coming up.

Severus sweeps his gaze around the room. There is no sign of an adult on this floor. The walls are hand-cleaned as high as a child standing on a chair might reach. The books are similarly arranged with a tall stool nearby for convenience. All four letters are addressed to ‘The Bedroom, Third Floor’ rather than ‘The Boy’s Room’ or ‘The Girl’s Room’ or even ‘The Kids’ Room’. All of the children sleep in one room with no thought towards separation by gender as most adults would do given the amount of space in this building.

Someone trained these children and trained them well, but left them to their own devices. Not recently, either, or enforced rules would still be ingrained.

“Miss Granger,” Severus says before Albus can do something stupid and risk their chances of retrieving the other four children today. “We are here to deliver your Hogwarts acceptance letter. We have one for yourself, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Longbottom, and Mr. Potter.” He keeps his tone professional as he might when addressing the parent of a muggleborn first year. He is a teacher, but he is also a spy and he had no desire to find out what these two girls were taught. He suspects there is more than childish bravado backing their unspoken claim to be able to protect the others’ retreat.

Miss Granger smiles prettily at him, a contrast to the eerie grin spreading across Miss Lovegood’s face. “Hogwarts, yes. We were expecting the letters to come by owl. We are all, rather obviously, quite aware of the wizarding world and have no need for escorts around Diagon.”

“My dear girl, I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that.” Albus twinkles genially at the children and Severus wants to beat his head into the nearest flat surface. Albus’s head, that is. It’s times like these when it becomes all too apparent that Albus was a Gryffindor. For all that he plays the political game, he takes thing at face value far too often to have spent any time in Slytherin. Dismissing these girls - any of these kids - as ordinary children will accomplish nothing. At the very least, they have survived unprotected in the depths of Knockturn Alley for the last however many years. “You see, you and your friends are all far from home and have been missing for quite some time. Your families miss you dearly. We intend to take you all back where you belong after gathering your school supplies.”

No. Nope. His boss is an idiot.

The children have been left unattended in Knockturn for an unknown amount of time. Four of them are wizarding raised and know how to use the floo or reach the bank or any number of things that would have gotten them back home in short order. Even in Knockturn, rumors of children trying to escape a dangerous situation would spread quickly. The children are here because they want to be. Separating them will earn Albus no points. Severus refuses to take part.

“More important, however,” Severus interrupts before Miss Lovegood’s grin can show any more teeth, “is getting all of you to a Healer to ensure that you are up to date on your vaccinations.” Two sets of eyes flick to him, judging. He waits to be found wanting - he always is - and is mildly surprised when Miss Lovegood giggles like the small girl she is rather than a Fae-child waiting for an insult so that she can feast on their bones.

He can feel Albus’s disapproval like sandpaper on his skin. He wants to shove the old man outside and see how he likes the continued intolerance of the Orphanage bearing down on him.

Miss Granger turns to him, shifting her shoulders and tilting her head to give the impression of facing him head on without actually facing away from the group at all. “That sound reasonable, Professor Snape.”


	2. 2 - Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actions have consequences.

1983 - 1991

Fred and George are five when Bill boards the Hogwarts Express for the first time in new robes with a new wand and new books. It’s 1983 and the war has been over for nearly two years now. Ronnie and Ginny are both babies still, three and two, and sick besides, so Dad sweeps Fred and George and Percy and Charlie along with Bill to King’s Cross that morning in what has all the trappings of becoming a tradition. 

Bill bears Dad’s fussing with all the grace of a nearly-twelve-year-old, and far more grace than he withstood Mum’s distracted-by-sick-babies fuss at the Burrow. Dad fiddles with his plain white tie and says, “You’ll look wonderful in red and gold, son.”

The next morning, Bill’s letter arrives home announcing his placement in Gryffindor. Charlie grumbles that Bill didn’t say anything about how the sorting was done. How’s he supposed to get into Gryffindor if he doesn’t know what to expect?

“Just going to have to be brave, then aren’t you?” Mum teases.

Bill entering formal education leads to some changes around the Burrow. It’s not necessarily quieter, with the exception of that first few days where everyone was readjusting to one less person occupying space. Ronnie and Ginny certainly tried to make up for any lack of Bill-noise as their illness defied potion cures and made them very cranky babies. Fred and George spent as much time outside as they could to avoid the screaming. To avoid setting off the screaming. To avoid getting in trouble for looking like they might set off the screaming.

They get in trouble for bothering Ronnie and Ginny a lot, even when they’re not.

Instead of Bill walking them through reading, writing, and maths lessons, Charlie tries his hand for all of a week before giving it up as a bad job poorly done. Percy picks up the slack there. He even gets on Charlie’s case when the older boy tries to weasel out of lessons. Percy, being all of seven to Charlie’s ten, shouldn’t make a better teacher, but he’s better at explaining the whys and hows in different ways until the twins understand. (Percy, being all of seven, shouldn’t be teaching them at all. But he is, what with Mum busy with the babies and Dad busy at work. Even Bill shouldn’t have been teaching, but such were the duties of the eldest.) 

Under Percy, Fred learns that he’s best with maths while George coasts along being fairly average until they start learning the basics of potions when Bill comes back for Christmas. In potions, George excels even beyond Percy. 

With Charlie’s help, Fred and George add potions to their pranking skill set. Little things like color-change solutions and making one food taste like something else. They make Ronnie think broccoli tastes like candy for three weeks shortly after their little brother turns four. Then Mum catches them and grounds them for two months.

Which seems excessive given that Ronnie didn’t fuss about vegetables for three entire weeks.

When Charlie goes to Hogwarts that September, a new wand and Bill’s old robes and books in tow, Fred and George know full well the Plan is for another Gryffindor. Weasleys go to Gryffindor. That’s how it works. Neither Ginny nor Ronnie are sick this time, so the entire family makes the trek to King’s Cross to see off the older two boys.

“Make sure to look after your brother, Bill,” Mum says, worrying at a smudge on Charlie’s cheek with her thumb. Charlie rolls his eyes hard enough that it looks like he’ll fall over.

“Course, Mum!” Bill complains. “He can sit with me and my friends at dinner and everything.”

Bill’s letter comes in at breakfast the next morning. Charlie is, as expected, a Gryffindor. Charlie’s letter, later that week, tells a story of a girl in Hufflepuff called Tonks who can shapeshift and is possibly the coolest, if clumsiest, girl he has ever met. Given that, realistically, the only other girl Charlie’s ever met is Ginny, that’s not saying much.

Dad says something about a first crush and Mum says he’s far too young for that sort of thing. Besides, didn’t Andromeda Black marry a muggleborn called Tonks? Maybe the girl’s in Hufflepuff, but wasn’t Sirius Black in Gryffindor? Look how that turned out.

(Nymphadora Tonks is not, in fact, Charlie’s first crush. Charlie never really has crushes, none that illicit more than a ‘woah, pretty’ reaction. He finds his first and only love in his third year with Care of Magical Creatures. Charlie is, however, Tonks’ first crush. Perhaps because he is the only boy who never asks her to be someone she’s not.)

With Charlie at school and Percy granted immunity from pranks - he won’t help with schoolwork if they prank him too often, and Mum is too busy, as always, with Ronnie just starting lessons and Ginny being her baby girl to have the time or patience to help without getting frustrated - Fred and George spend their free time plotting. They form a tentative friendship with Cedric Diggory down the road and use this new friendship to drag Percy out of the house once a week or so. Days spent running around the countryside lead to accidentally tripping headlong into Xenophilius Lovegood on one of the man’s more local creature hunts.

The Lovegoods have a daughter about Ginny’s age, Luna, and the middle three Weasley boys, having discovered the joys of friends outside of siblings, are quick to introduce the girls. Mum thinks Mr. Lovegood is crazy and that Mrs. Lovegood isn’t much better - although, the woman does have a job, classified, in the Ministry, so that makes her at least marginally respectable despite her choice in husband. 

Ginny and Luna don’t have many play-dates, but the Weasley boys and Cedric are always welcome to play at the Lovegood house. Despite Mum’s opinions, even Percy thinks Mr. Lovegood has a lot to teach about creatures and plants. Mrs. Lovegood introduces Fred to runes and arithmancy - introduces are all of them, really, but neither Percy nor George share Fred’s love of maths and the magical equivalences.

Then it’s the summer of 1985. Bill and Charlie are just home from school. The children have the run of the land between the Burrow, the Lovegood’s and the Diggory’s. With the older two back and Ronnie five and Ginny nearing four, Mum fretfully lets the lot of them out to play by themselves. It is one of these days, the Lovegood family off on a trip at Mr. Lovegood’s insistence, when seven children go out to play in the orchard and only five return. 

Fred and George are not the first to notice. They are seven and have never had to be responsible for anyone but each other a day in the their lives. Percy might notice before Bill and Charlie, but he’s used to keeping watch on the twins who are known to wander off four a couple of hours and return covered in mud and scrapes but relatively unharmed. 

The oldest two boys, home for barely a more than a week at that point, take a while to notice the absence of their youngest two siblings. It takes them longer to realize that, while Fred and George and Percy have been allowed to run wild since forever, Ronnie and Ginny have decidedly less freedom. Ronnie and Ginny don’t know how to stay out of trouble on their own.

All five boys search the orchard and the Lovegood property and the creek and the road up the the Diggory place where Mrs. Diggory is kind enough to allow five frantic children access to her floo so they can tumble, en-mass, into the kitchen, all shouting over each others for Mum and Ronnie and Ginny.

The Plan changed after You-Know-Who’s defeat and the war’s end. The world became a safer place, safe enough to allow children to play in the yard or at a friend’s house. People stopped mysteriously disappearing by December 1981. No one was scared anymore.

No one can find Ron and Ginny. Not Mum. Not Dad. Not the teachers and old war friends. Not people from the Ministry. No one.

Mum almost doesn’t allow Bill and Charlie to return to Hogwarts that fall. She refuses to allow Fred and George and Percy out of the house. Not to play with Cedric. Certainly not to escape into the Lovegood gardens, the same Lovegoods who were so irresponsible as to lose their only daughter on a trip outside the country. Especially not to play in the orchard.

And still, even with Ronnie and Ginny gone, Mum doesn’t have any more time for her middle three children. She blames them, almost. Blames Percy for not keeping watch. Blames Fred for turning Ron’s bear into a spider. Blames George for the potions. Blames Bill for not being responsible. Blames Charlie for being too distracted.

Percy goes from the quiet and well behaved middle child to withdrawn and meek. George hides behind his twin when their mother starts yelling and carefully holds Fred back when the simmering anger-hurt-disappointment rears up and lashes out. All three boys spend most of their time in Percy’s room with Bill and Charlie’s first year books. 

The house is suffocating for children used to running around outside at all hours. Where his brothers shrink themselves down to fit within the new confines of their life, Fred wants to tear his skin off and scream at the stars. Where Fred and Percy can lose themselves in their passion for learning, George thinks his eyes will start bleeding is he ever has to read another book again.

Where the twins can plot and plan and conspire for a far off day years in the future where they can escape, Percy feels every agonizing minute ticking by.

Mum spends her days locked in Ginny’s room with the photo album ignoring the children who lost her babies (ignoring the children who feel the loss of their siblings just as sharply, just as painfully as she does, children who have no idea that they shouldn’t blame themselves because, really, there was nothing any of them could do. They’re children, not monsters, and by the time Molly realizes that, she’s lost more than she could ever hope to regain.)

Percy starts Hogwarts in 1987. He has a new wand and old robes and old books with all his notes from the last two years carefully tucked between the pages. Mum stays home while Dad floos everyone to King’s Cross. Dad doesn’t say Percy will make a fine Gryffindor, Dad hasn’t said much of anything these last two years, and is almost never home besides. He still expects another Gryffindor. Bill - tall and lanky with the beginnings of long hair and a shiny new prefect badge pinned to his robes - and Charlie - shorter, but slim despite his broadening shoulders and chest promising an end to his seeker career - stand at Percy’s back like guards. 

“Write us,” George demands.

“Tell us how the sorting works,” Fred follows. 

Tell us where you’re sorted, they mean, but don’t say. It’s better not to draw attention, they’ve found.

They know how the sorting works. That first summer after Ron and Ginny, when Mum was still panicked instead of angry and Dad was still gone but for different reasons, Bill and Charlie told every story of Hogwarts they could think of in order to distract their siblings. From the sorting to the classes and teachers and hidden passages and legends and ghost and portraits. Everything. They told stories of friends in other houses and how Hufflepuff and Gryffindor differed, how Hufflepuff definitely has a secret alliance with Slytherin and how Ravenclaws are definitely not the good students everyone thinks they are. They tell stories of the good and the bad and everything in between in attempt to fill the hole left behind by Ron and Ginny.

Fred doesn’t tell Percy to make Gryffindor proud. George doesn’t tell Percy he’ll look good in red. Bill and Charlie don’t tell Percy they’ll save him a seat at dinner.

Mum and Dad might still expect Percy to follow the Plan the way Bill and Charlie are. Gryffindor. Prefect. Quidditch. But then, Mum and Dad don’t really know them anymore. 

The hat calls, “Ravenclaw,” and Percy is the first to break free of the Plan.

(Should it be any surprise that Bill dives head first into runes, arithmancy, and defense, argues the goblins into a summer apprenticeship days after receiving his OWLs scores despite being a year and a half too young to be of any real use? Should it be a surprise when Charlie spends weekends with Tonks in the summers, learning language after language to exchange letters with creature reserves all over the world? Percy is the first to change the Plan, but Bill and Charlie are the first to truly escape.)

Percy, Bill and Charlie come home for Christmas only because they don’t want to leave Fred and George alone. The twins spend the rest of the time in their room. They have all of the second and third year standard texts to study from. They have runes and arithmancy from Bill, and car and healing from Charlie. They read and study and plot and spend holidays soaking up every drop for two years until they stand with their brothers at King’s Cross, for the first time all five of them leaving.

Dad has work. Mum stayed home, as she has for the last three years. There are no expectations for the twins, which hurts more than it should.

The hat sits on Fred first and debates the merits of Gryffindor versus Slytherin for all of ten seconds, comparing Fred’s throw-caution-to-the-wind personality with his longstanding plans and ambitions. “You’ll learn well in Slytherin, young Weasley,” the hat says.

When George sits under the hat not a minute later, Ravenclaw is the second choice, the debated choice. George is caution and curiosity, testing the waters before diving in. He thinks and plans and creates but it’s all for an end goal, a purpose, rather than because he can. “Slytherin,” the hat calls again.

And there they are. The first Weasleys in Slytherin.

Mum writes precisely once, if a Howler can be considered writing. They are, apparently, disappointments and always had been. It’s not news, even if it hurts.

No one is sure what to make of them, that first year. They respond to the first, second and final attacks against their persons with humiliation, revenge and blackmail all without getting caught by teacher or peer. They earn points and keep their heads down. 

None of the brothers go home for the holidays that year. Nor the next.

Bill graduates at the end of their first year. He’s vanished by the goblins even before his NEWTs come in, taking up a position in Egypt. He writes once a week, just as he always has. Charlie graduates the next year and apparates straight from the train platform to Diagon where, the twins and Percy know, he portkeys to a Romanian dragon reserve. George prepares for a resurgence of animosity from their housemates by reminding them of the two years of dirt he has on them. Fred is preparing for those non-Slytherins unwilling to bow to blackmail and more willing to respond with violence now that their oldest brothers and seeming protectors are gone. 

They are rightfully shocked when Mum bursts into their room, sobbing, and pulls the pair into a bone crushing hug the likes of which she hasn’t given them in years. Percy, alerted by the noise, can only stare wide-eyed at their mother. Without much more than that, Mum shuffles them all into the floo and shouts, “St. Mungo’s!” in a wobbly, tear-choked voice. 

Dad is waiting for them. It’s the only thing that keeps them from assuming the worst.

Maybe George wants to leave the house so bad he has nightmares. Maybe Fred can’t sleep without a window open. Neither want their parents hurt.

But instead, they’re taken to a large room at the back of the first floor. Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape are waiting for them, along with the Lovegoods, and an old lady who might be Dowager Longbottom. Professor Snape is wearing a frown at says he is less than pleased with how events are proceeding. His eye is even twitching in that way it does when his perfectly reasonable advice has gone completely unheeded by the absolute morons he works with. 

Fred and George has seen this expression multiple times when other teachers try to pin fights on Slytherins rather than on all involved parties. 

A healer steps out of the room and her expression changes from exhausted to a near identical copy of Snape’s own.

“I see you went against my professional advice and notified the families,” she snips. With a great sight, she turns from glaring at Headmaster Dumbledore to pass a displeased glance over the crowd in the hallway. “Very well. Do not crowd them. Do not touch without permission. Do not make sudden movements or movements that could be interpreted as threatening. Do not try to separate them. Do not speak about separating them. Do not imply that you are going to separate them. In fact, don’t even talk about removing them from this building, together or otherwise, until a mind healer is both present and has had a session with them prior to that conversation.”

She glares again at Dumbledore in tandem with Snape. 

“They’ve had all the necessary vaccination. You may go in. Slowly. Quietly.” She says the last with a pointed look at a still sobbing Mum. She is, of course, promptly ignored as the adults all bottleneck the door trying to get in. Fred looks at Snape, who looks very much like he wants to roll his eyes, and then at Percy, who shrugs.

“Professor,” George asks, “what is going on?”

“Your younger sibling have been found.”

—

15 June 1991

George doesn’t know what to think about his long lost siblings. Ronnie and Ginny are both distant memories and an overshadowing presence. He doesn’t blame them for disappearing. If they ran off or someone took them, it doesn’t matter. They were little kids. Barely five and almost four. What did they know of long-term consequences? And even then, no one could have predicted how Mum and Dad would react, so really what’s the point in mis-assigning blame again?

When all the adults are kicked out of the exam room by irate healers the fifth time someone sets off the accidental magic alarms, Fred, George, and Percy are allowed in. Headmaster Dumbledore hemmed and hawed and, somehow, convinced one of the healers that, “Maybe the children would have an easier time connecting to others more their age. Certainly Ronald and Ginevra must have missed their brothers.” Which got the three of them into a room with six irate runways while Mum shivered and sobbed into Dad’s shoulder.

They interrupt a hushed conversation with their entrance.

“— get a hold on it!”

“Magic always reacts to emotion. This is emotional. I’ll figure it out.” 

Honestly, Fred wouldn’t recognize his baby siblings if not for their red hair and freckles. The lot of them have been allowed to dress in real people clothes, rather than hospital gowns now that the exam part of the day is over.

Ginny’s hair is short, way shorter than Mum would ever approve of for her little girl. Most of it is cut close to the skin with only the stuff on top falling haphazardly around her ears and into her face. She has a cream robe tossed over her lap like a blanket and is otherwise wearing a dark long sleeved shirt and loose-fitting trousers. Ron is dressed similarly, but with an opposing color scheme. His shirt, just visible under his dark robe, is probably white. At the very least it’s quite pale. Possibly blue. 

Weasleys don’t look good in black. Their complexion is the wrong sort of pale for such a stark color, but Ron and Ginny pull it in a way none of their siblings can. Perhaps, George thinks, it’s not their complexion. No, these Weasleys are just as pale and freckly as the next. Maybe it’s something else. Not even Ron’s lazy sprawl in a dark haired boy’s lap or Ginny’s bare feet dangling several inches off the floor can disguise the way their gazes snapped to the opening door. The way they stare, recognition sharp against wary expressions. 

Yes, maybe it’s something else.

It takes a moment for Fred to tear is eyes away from his siblings to fully take in the other four children. The dark haired, green eyed boy Ron is almost definitely holding down, one hand tight around a thin wrist that wavers, just for a second, into gold and black mist before settling at skin once more. The little blonde girl that must be Luna, he’s certain of it, perched at the foot of the bed. The girl with more curls than hair sitting prim and proper in the uncomfortable chair opposite her. The mousy boy with steel in his eyes standing just at Ginny’s side, defensive but certainly not going to get in her way.

Ron, Ginny, Luna. Probably Neville Longbottom, given Dowager Longbottom outside. The other two are unknowns.

Fred and George may only be thirteen, but they’re Weasleys in Slytherin, a lion and an eagle disguised as snakes. They have more enemies than allies and know danger when they see it.

They see it now.

Percy, pretty little Ravenclaw that he is, the quiet, forgotten Weasley, does not see. “Good evening,” he says, offering the polite, neutral smile all of his brother’s hate. Fred mirrors the Longbottom boy. Percy is tall, being two years older and decidedly lanky, while they are rather less so and it always looks odd when they frame him, so George steps to the side a bit, gives enough space to still provide a united front without coming off as a wall.

“I’ve had better evenings,” the unknown girl replies. Also polite. Also smiling. “They want you to talk to us. To Ron and Ginny.”

The green eyed boy pushes at Ron until their brother heaves himself upright with a sigh, hand never leaving that skinny wrist. There is a shuffling on the bed - Ginny moving closer to curls, Longbottom sliding towards Luna - so that the two boys can sit between them. It’s almost like a line in the sand, Fred and George and Percy on one side, six small nearly-almost-could-be eleven-year-olds on the other. Well, not Ginny because she’s nine. But the others.

“Let’s talk then,” green eyes says. His smile catches somewhere between nostalgic and false, but he meets their eyes one at a time. The other children relax. “Introductions first.”

It’s an order. It’s definitely an order. He stares expectantly. This expression, Percy catches and he straightens, shoulders back and proper. “I am Percy Weasley. These are my brothers, Fred and George. We will be attending Hogwarts with you. At some point,” he adds hurriedly, belatedly remembering the healer’s warning.

“My name is Hermione Granger,” curls replies. Spokesperson, George decides. She stands to the side and waves a hand at the others. “You know Ginny, I suppose. And Ron. This is Harry Potter. Next to him is Neville Longbottom. And, finally, Luna Lovegood.”

Ron and Ginny watch them with narrowed, weary eyes that look nothing like the small children, toddlers really, they remember. They nod when introduced, but otherwise sit so still. They hated sitting next to each other before.

But, then, that was before. It’s been six years and the three Weasley boys know how easy it is to change in six years. (Ravenclaw, says the hat. Slytherin. Slytherin.)

Luna taps Neville Longbottom on the shoulder twice and crawls behind him to drape herself over Harry Potter’s shoulders. She whispers something in his ear as Neville asks, “What’s Hogwarts like? The professors say some of us will be starting this year.”

Fred knows expressions. The wide, inquiring eyes, the half smile, the curled shoulders, like he’s uncertain. He sees that look on Percy often enough to know that Neville is faking it. Not totally. Not like Harry Potter - and there’s going to be a huge fuss over Harry Potter this year because that boy is not Dumbledore’s golden lion - who’s hair is still a little misty at the edges. Neville Longbottom is curious, he wants to know, but he wants to know an answer to a question he isn’t asking.

“Hogwarts,” George starts with a glance over at his twin. Fred shrugs. He thinks of Bill: junior curse-breaker at Gringotts in Egypt, Head Boy, Prefect, Gryffindor. He thinks of Charlie: just starting a career with dragons, Prefect, Seeker, Gryffindor. He thinks of Percy, the forgotten Ravenclaw Weasley, who might have a girlfriend when Penelope Clearwater gets tired of waiting around, who might be Prefect this year, but has mostly just kept his head down and tried to avoid attention. He thinks of himself, of Fred, standing back to back in the Slytherin common room that night two years ago, terrified but determined, knowing that they couldn’t rely on anyone but each other. He thinks of succeeding and says, “Hogwarts is a second home if you follow the Plan.”

“George!” Percy scold, but it’s half-hearted.

“No, Perce,” Fred says. “He’s right. You’re given a certain level of safety if you follow the Plan. If you don’t, well, you remember your first year. You sat with Bill and Charlie for six months before Penny decided you were friends. Your house is at least neutral. George and I—”

“You’re not in Gryffindor?” Ron asks, frowning in a way that implies confusion rather then anger. “None of you. Where were you sorted?”

Harry Potter leans forward, watching, Luna looming over his head like a little ghost. Ginny glares at their brother for just a second before sharing a look with Hermione Granger. Neville Longbottom just nods to himself and wraps a hand around Harry Potter’s other wrist. Giving or taking comfort, George wonders. Restraining or reminding?

Percy, again, notices none of the nuances. Or, if he does notice, he ignores them with a level of Gryffindor-Weasley bullheadedness that he has previously showed no sign of possessing. “I suppose you two remember Bill and Charlie being sorted then?” he asks and Ginny nods. Odd, considering how young she was. “Well, I am in Ravenclaw, a fifth year, actually. Fred and George are in their third year. They were—”

“We’re in Slytherin,” Fred challenges.

And instead of the expected reactions, the reactions they have gotten from every cousin or family friend, the kids relax. Harry Potter grins something sharp and feral. Ron and Ginny exchange relieved looks, like their sorting is some gift they weren’t expecting. 

They’re moving now, shifting about like children are supposed to, not locked tight like little statues. Neville’s feet thump against the bed frame. Luna pets at Harry’s hair. Hermione folds herself into a pretzel in her uncomfortable chair and settles. Ron and Ginny smile at their siblings for the first time.

“Tell us about Hogwarts, please?” Neville asks again and, in the face of actual children, the three brothers do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, the chapter just needed to end so... I ended it. Also, you may or may not have noticed that dialogue is not my forte. 
> 
> And really, I'm not trying to Weasley bash. But sometimes people react in strange ways to tragedy and missing kids are tragedy.

**Author's Note:**

> Please point out any errors
> 
> Also, I adore comments and ideas and talking to my readers.
> 
> Discord: https://discord.gg/HgFeqV


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